I've had a major dilemma on my hands and I'm hoping that you will support me in my decision.
If I want to be a Pittsburgh Pierogi, does this mean that I am allowed to eat pierogies whenever I want? Or does this mean that I am supposed to banish the delicious flavor fusion of butter, onion, cheese and potato from my often spoiled palate? Sometimes my life is so difficult (sigh).
Here are my thoughts on the two options:
1. You are what you eat. If I eat enough pierogies, will I eventually turn into one? My grandmother used to say that our family ate so much spaghetti that the insides of our bellies have turned red. As much as I want to be one of the pierogi runners, I really don't want my belly turning into dough. I prefer it to stay the same - slightly soft, slightly roundish, but overall it's thin enough and made of human skin and tissue (and apparently it's rather red inside). I also don't want my family, coworkers, and the general public wondering what suddenly smells like butter and fried onions when I walk into a room. The only exception to that last sentence would be if Daniel Sepulveda just so happens to love pierogies that much where this could bode well for me...I'm just sayin'...there's a chance, even if it's Lloyd's odds with Mary in Dumb & Dumber (one out of a million for those of you who haven't seen one of the greatest movies ever).
But....I want to eat pierogies! I want to eat them for dinner and I want to go back for seconds and maybe thirds, and then I want to eat them the next day before noon...I want to have five too many and my poor mother will worry that I have an addiction. An intervention might be necessary, but hey I don't have a serious problem, I swear. I normally only have two or three and I can stop anytime I want. I'm fine, really I am, but this could jeopardize my end goal of becoming a star participant in the Great Pierogi Race. I've been called a lot of things, but a cannibal so far is not one of them. It's probably not the right way to make friends on the team. If I do get my shot, the other pierogies would run so fast out of fear that I would most certainly lose the race. But oh, Oliver Onion, sometimes you look so tasty and it just makes me want to nibble on your broad shoulder. Sauerkraut Saul texts me constantly, but I keep telling him I'm all yours.
2. Proper nutrition + rigorous exercise = No pierogies for me. In every novel or movie, there is typically this fancy thing called a "plot", which usually revolves around some sort of conflict that must be resolved by the novel or the movie's end. One of the problems with plots is that there can be several twists and other possible paths that the characters or the story could take which can ultimately ruin something that started out so promising. Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books that were popular in the 1980's? I'm at one of those crossroads here except I would have to wait a year (a year!) until I get to attempt another outcome in the pierogi saga.
Banning pierogies would improve my odds of becoming a runner since training would be a heck of a lot easier if my belly simply stayed the same instead of turned into mush. And unfortunately I don't think pierogies help meet my daily recommended amount of protein, either. Maybe I can have my pierogi and eat it too, as long as I work out twice as much and make sure that my plate reflects the proper overload of vegetables with only a teeny-tiny portion of carbs? Unfortunately, I don't know if I can trust myself to have just one.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
But chew on this thought for a minute: In cheap slasher movies, they usually have the ditzy blonde "go check" downstairs when she hears a noise instead of locking the bedroom door, calling 911 on her cell phone, grabbing some sort of weapon and deciding either to book it out the window or stay put until help arrives... like any sane woman would do. However...wouldn't it be boring if the naive party chick didn't meet her fate after tripping over her own sky-high heels, squirming helplessly because she somehow forgot her ability to stand, while the killer s-l-o-w-l-y saunters after her in his three big strides? You wouldn't be able to sit safely in your seat, shaking your head. You couldn't whisper impatiently to the screen, "Just get up and run dammit!! I knew this was going to happen and I don't understand why you wouldn't listen to me! Hmmph!" And the expression on your face would change from exasperation to supremely smug, as if such an untimely exit could never happen to you.
In the same way, this particular conundrum of mine would not be nearly as entertaining if I choose option number two and abstain from pierogies. I realize this puts me in the doomed category along with the blonde, but you don't want the story ending after five minutes without the chase, even if you think you already know the inevitable outcome, do you? And sometimes, the ending may very well surprise you. In my case - I sure hope I don't fall over during try-outs while a large fork looms perilously over my head.
I am choosing option one, and I am doing this for you. Yes, you specifically, and for your enjoyment. Unless you have a very persuasive argument for option number two that comes with free Clinique products and a Flip, I will commence with cannibalism. This will make my fight harder, the race uphill for now instead of pretending that I am on the level and manicured PNC field. Picture your heroine training in a puffy pierogi-shaped costume with her black tennis shoes and yellow laces, dragging her mattressed self up the steepest hill in Dormont that you've ever seen, running towards an imaginary finish line where dinner awaits as the prize.
Obviously I'm going to need all the help I can get. Please, please, pretty please... order some homemade pierogies from your local church and donate them to a worthy cause known as my freezer if you can't make them yourself. Mrs. T is also a very welcome guest in my home and I prefer the jalapeno variety. You can be one of my enablers...I will come home from work and the gym, where I just burned off the previous night's feast...the butter dripping from my pores as if it were sweat....and I will fry up some pierogies, smiling the entire time through dinner as they go down smoothly.
No comments:
Post a Comment